


Close Your Eyes; Hold Your Hand

by Ruth809



Series: Close Your Eyes; Hold Your Hand [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruth809/pseuds/Ruth809
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serena Tarth Lannister is Jaime and Brienne's six year old daughter. It is after the Great War, the three of them living in Tarth, The Sapphire Isle. Besides her sword, Serena's favorite toy is her father's gold hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Your Eyes; Hold Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fan fic. I haven't read the books (please no complaints on the accuracy. I'm new at this) which is why I'm vague, but of course it's written through a child's POV. I might imagine this has lots of typos. That said, I wrote this for therapeutic purposes with the season five finale and reeling from Jaime and Myrcella's final scene. Feedback is welcomed. I will plan to make this a series once I finsh working on the next story. The song I listened to while writing was "Deep in the Meadow" from "The Hunger Games"

The sun peaks through the branches, creating puddles of light on the grass. A large beam of sunlight strikes my eye. When I close it, I see a big black spot. It is here where I hide. My secret spot. I have many of them. In the meadows, the shallowed valleys, a small cave carved of rock under the waterfall. At home in the cellar, the cupboards and under my bed. I can hide just about anywhere. Father always jabs at Mother for me being very tiny and not at all like her whom is a giant. One time, I heard him call her a wench when they were riding. “You may call me wench in the privacy of our bedroom,” She gestures at me where I sat waiting for them. “But not in front of Serena.” I replied that I didn’t mind at all.

I hear a rustle from behind. I stiffen my body, my heart pounds inside my ear. I do not feel the warmth of the sun, only the icy fear in my bones. My hand pushes against the blades of grass until I feel for Lioness, my sword. It is not a real sword but a wooden one. I am too young to have a real one. Mother told me that once when I am older, she would teach me how to fight. Father, on the other hand, seemed reluctant for me to the thought of having me fight.

I command myself not to be afraid. I will face whatever man or beast is behind me. I will fight them off. How dare they invade my hiding spot? I take a giant gulp of air, crouch down and leap from the tree, yelling “Ha!” It is not a man or beast. It is only a doe, nibbling on grass. Its eyes are large and shining, a light brown. It seems afraid of what I might do. I drop Lioness. With a sharp flick of the doe’s tail, it leaps away. I was going to tell the doe how sorry I am for scaring it.

When I return home, I listen to mother and father discuss about Evenfall Hall. It is still being rebuilt. I keep hearing about the palace where mother was born and raised. I don’t know much about the Great War. Mother and father met during that time and found each other again. The war ended when the peace treaty was signed. I have asked them when we would go. “Soon” is the only answer I get.

“Did you go out exploring again?” Father asks with a glint of amusement. I report to him of spotting a doe. I love to see him smile. How his green eyes begin to light up, the corner of his mouth slowly lifts. Sometimes, there is a sadness trapped inside his eyes. It is the same for mother and her blue eyes. I wonder what they think about when they see me. Do they remember the people they lost during the Great War? What terrible things did they witness?

As we eat, I turn my eyes towards father’s gold hand that lays neatly on the table, next to his plate. If I stare at it long enough, I can almost imagine seeing a finger lift. When they sleep, I tip toe inside their room, making sure I am quiet. His arm is draped over her stomach. His head on her shoulder. The moonlight illuminates the hand that is on the night table. It is heavy in my hands. In my own bed, I cradle my cheek. It is a perfect fit. I close my eyes, feeling sleep carrying me away. In the mornings, I place the hand back before father wakes up. Other times, I feel father’s stump poking my head. “Why don’t you cuddle with Lioness?” He mumbled and placed his hand back on the stump. “What happened with your other hand?”

Father examined his hand. “No amount of sapphires could have stopped the bastard who chopped it off. Not to worry, he met his maker soon after.” I am careful in not talking about the Great War for it makes the sadness reappear in my parents eyes. Later on in the night, father spoke with mother about Evenfall Hall and preparing to return. “People will talk, no doubt. We won’t be welcomed that warmly. Not since the Lannisters have sent enough regards.” Mother told father.

“Let them talk. Not like I’ll be leaving here any time soon.” He looked at her tenderly, tilting her chin with his hand. I could see her blush. “At least I’ll be with my wench and lioness.” Their kiss begins slow, wrapping her large arms, giving a tiny moan. It made me happy to see them happy.

A few days later, mother instructs me to stay with father. He fell off his horse and is not able to get up from bed. I prepare a breakfast dish for him of cooked boar, with bread and the berries I picked. A soft breeze plays with the curtains. Father is sleeping with his back turned away. I set the plate on the night table next to his gold hand. I pick up his hand and sit on the floor next to the bed. My face still fits inside. As father sleeps, I too begin to fall asleep.

Bump. Bump. Father looks down at me curled up with his hand. His green eyes are clouded with sleep. He looks too tired to smile. He groans as he makes room for me on the bed. “Thank you for the dish.” He ate half the boar. The berries are gone. “Do you feel better?” I ask.

He sighs. “I will eventually.” I give back his gold hand. As he fits it back into place he asks, “Why do you like this thing so much?”

“I don’t know. It feels nice to sleep with it.” I look down to his other hand and place mine above his.

“I would much rather have you hold this hand and not steal the other.” Father says quietly. His real hand is warm and thick inside my own. I move closer to him until my head is pressed against his chest. Both of his arms are wrapped around me, like a blanket. “I’m glad you’re my father.”

Father pulls me back. His green eyes are awake with fear. He looks at the plate and my face, wiping my nose with his hand. “Do you feel alright, Serena?”

“Yes, father. I feel okay.” He doesn’t seem to believe me. I repeat to him that I feel well. That I feel happy. Father holds me tight. So tight that my back begins to ache. I feel his chest stiffen. There is a drop that falls on top of my head.

I close my eyes, imagining that father’s arms are the branches of the tree that I hide under. This is my new hiding place. Where I am kept safe. Where nothing or no one can do any harm as long as father is there.

“This is what you need, Serena. You deserve peace. And it’s an oath I’m going to keep.” Father whispers to me.


End file.
